


Cordial

by gigantic



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gallaghers can't really afford to go to New York, but Lip finds the next best thing to a West Point visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cordial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DTKokoro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DTKokoro/gifts).



"Mess dress or winter uniform only," Lip says, flicking something at Ian.

"What?" Ian says. He holds his hands up for protection, the object bouncing off his forearms and onto the mattress beside him. It's paper, folded over a few times. "What is this about?"

"Dinner starts at 1900 hours," Lip says, pitching his voice lower and adding rasp, mocking an officer. "Steak or vegetarian option -- I told Stein to go with steak. Do they let vegetarians in the military? If you don't love slaughtered animals, you probably wouldn't be able to handle doing the same to people."

"Most people don't kill their own food anyway," Ian says. 

"Even worse. They can't even handle the idea of killing on their own for basic survival," Lip says. "Too much compassion."

"I was thinking about eating vegetarian," Debbie says, coming into the room. She heads for the closet and starts pushing through Carl's clothes. 

"Too expensive," Lip says to her. "What're you doing?"

"Carl ripped his shirt trying to perfect leaping the fence in one go," Debbie says, and then pauses, face screwed up. "Do we have gauze left?"

"Bandage him with the torn shirt," Ian says, distracted by the paper in his hands. With the page all spread out, Ian can see that it's an invitation. "You want me to go to a ball?"

"Me?" Debbie asks.

"No, I don't. You're the one determined to promise 8 years to our fucked up federal government," Lip says. "A guy I took a test for --"

"You helped someone get into West Point?" Ian asks, a little outraged. He's working his ass off trying to make sure he's got the right GPA and enough extracurriculars. And he has no idea how he's supposed to get the recommendation from a Senator. He’s read that a lot of cadets have that on their side. 

Rolling his eyes, Lip says, "No, he got into George Mason. His brother's a West Point alum. Didn't even lose any limbs."

"And, what, you want me to dance with him at this ball?" Ian says.

"Look, we don't have the money to get to New York for the misleading family visit, and unless you're a black or hispanic girl with honors who loves starting school clubs and playing basketball when she's not captain of the swim team, they're probably not going to recruit you either," Lip says. He reaches under his pillow for his pack of cigarettes. "So, a cadet ball."

"I want to go to a ball," Debbie says.

"It's not for vegetarians, Debs." Lip nudges her out of the room, closing the door behind her. He sits next to Ian and takes the invitation. "Come on, I already spent $90 for tickets to this."

“Where’d you get 90 extra dollars?”

Lip ignores the question, busy scanning the paper. Raising his eyes, he asks, "Do you have a bow tie I can borrow?"

;;

Getting punched in the face underneath an L train and then trying to hack it in Chicago without money or a place to stay hasn’t tempered Lip’s opinions about other people, but it means he’s trying to cockblock everybody else’s stupid decisions less. That’s what he says anyway. 

“I didn’t want him to get in my face over it again, so I just said okay,” Ian says to Mandy when he tells her about the whole ball thing, sitting on Mickey’s bed as she goes through his drawers and closet.

Mandy says, “Your brother’s kind of an asshole. You know that. All older brothers are.”

“I told you he spent money on 3 tickets though, too,” Ian says, leaning forward. “You know what that means. He wants to come.” 

“He’s an asshole making an effort.” Mandy pushes all the way to the end of Mickey’s hanging clothes and says, “Found it. I knew he still had to have it.”

She pulls out a dark suit jacket and slacks. Ian stands up and says, “Wow, Mickey really owns a suit.”

“One of my dad’s friends died. He made us go to the funeral with him,” Mandy says, taking the jacket from the hangar. “Hold your arms out.” 

It doesn’t fit him entirely, but it’s close enough. It might work for Lip. Ian looks at himself in the mirror and tries to imagine Mickey wearing a suit anywhere, scowling and tugging at his tie over and over. He thinks he’d like to see it, but the mental image also kind of freaks him out. He’s mildly surprised the suit doesn’t have visible rips or faded blood stains.

“You’re handsome,” Mandy says, standing next to him. “I’d still fuck you if you were into it, you know?”

“Thanks,” Ian says and tries to imagine Mickey saying the same thing, just as blunt, and it makes him smirk at the mirror a little. He takes off the jacket. “Lip’ll probably still need a dress shirt.”

Mandy passes Ian the hanger so that he can keep the pants and jacket together, and then tugs on Ian’s sleeve. She says, “Come on, we can go to the mall together. I need to steal a dress anyway.”

;;

Robert Stein graduated from West Point in 2006, served four years of active duty, and now he’s hoping he doesn’t get recalled at any point. 

“This President doesn’t seem like he’s trying to start new wars,” Ian says. 

“You never know,” Robert says. He smiles and shrugs a shoulder, as if he’s telling a joke.

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Lip says. Robert might not know how landing a joking aside really works, but Lip knows how to use sarcasm effectively.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m letting him go back,” Robert’s mother says -- Patricia. She lets the same awkward smile stretch across her mouth, and Ian wonders if there are things like that outsiders notice about him and his own family. She squeezes Robert’s bicep and then reaches across him to nudge at her other son’s forearm where it rests on the table. “And I’m glad Taylor’s more interested in the kind of politics that’ll keep him in an office.” 

“An oval one?” Lip asks, and Mandy chuckles. She’s sitting between him and Lip, the dress she picked out and stuffed in her bag, a soft blue and black -- like a bruise, she’d said in the store, insisting that it might be more appropriate for a night around a bunch of military men and women, and Ian helped her dye part of her hair blue to match. 

Taylor says, “More like hoping for Senator, at best.”

“I don’t blame you. President’s the kind of thing that can really test a guy.”

“Lip,” Ian says, and then stops. He doesn’t care, really. He doesn’t know these people, but they haven’t even actually started the dinner part of the night yet.

Patricia says, “Taylor could if he truly wanted to, I think, but he keeps saying Congress is where the real important national decisions are made.” 

“Mom, nobody wants to hear about my plans for after college,” Taylor says.

“I’m riveted,” Lip says.

Taylor rolls his eyes, tapping his fingers against the table a little impatiently. He says, “It’s better than hanging around Chicago.”

Lip opens his mouth to say something else, but Ian jumps in quicker to say, “I agree with that.” Looking to Robert, he says, “That’s part of why I want to try to apply to West Point. See something other my hometown. I’ve heard it’s really disciplined.”

“No other school like it,” Robert says. “The studying is time-consuming, but we find ways to have fun too.”

“And then they put you on a plane to the Middle East for graduating,” Lip says. “Nice reward.”

“I enjoyed every year I was at West Point,” Robert says, craning forward in his seat to look at Lip directly. The attempts at a disarming smile fade. “And I was glad to serve with the men in my company so that people like you and my brother could stay here, focus on school, and criticize the rest of us for making sure someone doesn’t come over here and keep from you from that.”

Taylor says, “Lip doesn’t really do school anymore, I’ve heard.”

“But what I can do was good enough for George Mason,” Lip throws back.

“Are you really --”

Patricia cuts in, saying, “Boys -- it’s a party. A family event? We’re celebrating servicemen and wishing good luck to the next class, like Ian here. Maybe next time you’ll be a cadet, huh? You and Rob both affiliated with the Academy.”

“If Robert’s wishes don’t come true, and they send him back,” Taylor adds.

“I’m not going back,” Robert says.

“You can’t wait to go back,” Taylor says, not bothering to look at his brother. Robert seems agitated then, and the off smile comes back, strained. 

He says, “Are you trying to pick a fight with everybody tonight, Tay? I’m supposed to be introducing Ian to West Point life. He’s excited about it.”

“Right, right. Yeah. What are you excited about?” Taylor asks Ian suddenly, looking directly at him.

Ian needs a moment to get himself together, looking to Mandy and Lip. Mandy reaches for his hand, but Lip just leans back and waits, too. Ian says, “It’s one of the best schools in the country. I’ve done ROTC all throughout high school. I like it. I want to keep being around people who respect discipline and want to push themselves.”

“That’s what they look for in New York,” Robert says. “How are your grades? You’ve got extracurriculars?” 

“I’m doing as much as I can,” Ian says. 

“My dad was a West Point grad, too,” Taylor says. 

Patricia says, “Taylor, you need to stop.”

“Do you want to hear about him?” Taylor continues, ignoring her when she places her hand on his. “Robert’s following in his footsteps.”

“Taylor,” Robert says, echoing his mother.

“This isn’t the time,” Patricia says.

“When is? When Gallagher’s going to fucking Afghanistan or Iran or wherever we’re sending troops next?” Taylor asks. He shrugs Robert off roughly when his brother reaches to touch Taylor’s shoulder. “Ian, Lip didn’t tell you?”

“Is he dead?” Mandy asks.

Lip says, “Yeah, some chunky explosive -- from a bazooka or something. Right at the head, right?”

“Gross.”

“That’s so out of line,” Robert says, pointing a finger at Lip, and it’s not the first time tonight that Ian’s recognized him as a soldier. Half the people at this ball are clearly in good shape, honed to be intimidating and terror efficient when a situation calls for it, but Robert’s been really good at being off-duty until this moment.

“Now isn’t the _fucking_ time,” Patricia says, gripping the end of the table so fiercely that her fingernails start to blush red. 

Pushing back from the table, Taylor says, “I’m getting a drink.”

Pointing after him, Lip says, “Great thought. Turns out that guy is a genius after all.”

Mandy ducks her head close and asks Ian, “Do you want?”

“No, thanks,” Ian says, because he still can’t figure out if he just wants to leave or if he’s as angry as Patricia and needs to stew in it a while longer.

“Okay. Find us if you change your mind,” Mandy says, and then rises with Lip. He digs something out his pocket -- a fake ID card, Ian recognizes as he glimpses Lip’s small picture off to one side -- and the two of them head towards the main room and the open bar.

After a minute, Robert says, “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s been rough lately,” Patricia says. “We’re trying to get back to normal.”

Scratching his neck, Ian says, “Don’t worry about it. My mom tried to commit suicide a while back.”

He regrets saying it the second it’s out there, but Robert and Patricia just glance at each other and sort of nod sympathetically.

“I meant that I get messed up family stuff,” Ian says. 

Patricia pats his wrist, and that’s interesting to Ian too. She’s full of little reassuring touches he’s not used to and doesn’t really know what to do with -- doesn’t even know if they’re really for the people she reaches out to or more for herself. 

She says, “At least she wasn’t successful. Your mom.”

“Yeah,” Ian says after a beat, and then folds his fingers together. The subject is even more uncomfortable to have to respond to than to bring up.

;;

Ian’s had worse dinner experiences, but it doesn’t mean sitting at a table with Robert and his mom feels any less bizarre. On the plus side, Ian hasn’t eaten steak for dinner in a long time. 

Robert declares a do-over on the whole topic of West Point. He tells Ian that he didn’t only apply because his father attended the Academy, he also got a chance to visit himself and really respected how it’s run. 

“It’s not a stale place either. That mattered to me,” Robert says. “They’re trying to really recruit to make it more diverse. More women and minorities. Uhhh, what else? Since Don’t Ask was nixed and New York allowed gay marriage, they’ve had people get married in the new chapel. There are sports teams, for girls and the guys. I really believe that being a cadet is about being a forward-thinker, not someone stuck in the past.”

“That’s good,” Ian says. He’s not overly concerned with the politics of the place, though it seems weird when he thinks about that, since defense and politics are so closely related. It makes Ian recall Lip closing in on him, demanding to know why Ian would want to serve an institution that resented him for wanting to fuck other guys. 

So far, Ian doesn’t really care about what most people think of who he messes around with as long he can still do so when he wants. He can deal with the rest later. Right now he just wants to go to college.

“Has anyone else in your family ever served?” Patricia asks. 

“I don’t think so,” Ian says. “And my brother -- Lip. You can tell he’s still not into the idea.”

“What about your parents?”

Ian says, “My mom tried to sign me up once, but she’s insane, so that makes sense. I don’t think Frank even really knows.”

“Frank -- oh, your father,” Patricia says, and then seems to take a few moments to put together the last name and first name. Ian hopes Frank never stole anything from these people, hopes Patricia isn’t about to remember she hates Gallaghers, but the corners of her mouth turn down in a way that usually precedes people just saying they’re sorry Frank’s related to him, so Ian pushes his chair back.

Gesturing across the room, he says, “Uh, excuse me. I’m going to use the bathroom.”

He feels like he breathes easier with each step he takes away from the table. He glances around and then peeks into the next room with the drinks and DJ, but he doesn’t spot Lip and Mandy.

Ian goes to the restroom, and when he finishes, he heads outside to see if Lip and Mandy may have taken a smoke break. It surprises him to see Taylor leaning against the building, dragging on something of his own. He thinks it’s a cigarette Taylor rolled on his own at first, but he can smell it more clearly as he gets closer.

“That’s bold. What’ll all your future voters think?” Ian asks.

“Please,” Taylor says. “Have you seen any of the news lately? We’re heading towards legalization. And even if we aren’t there by the time I run for office, people will vote for a candidate who smoked as a kid as long as he raids as many inner-city homes as possible once he’s elected.”

“You’ve got that all planned out?”

“Yeah, the first place I’m checking out is your family’s house,” Taylor says, half-smiling, similar to his mom and brother, but at least he seems to know how to actually place a quip.

“Fiona’s good about making sure Frank doesn’t start a meth lab in the bathroom or something,” Ian says. He watches Taylor inhale, hold, and then let out a rush of smoke. “Some friends of ours might’ve been growing in a basement during the summer.”

“Really?” Taylor says. “That’s useful information.”

“Could be,” Ian says. “What’s the intel worth for you?”

Taylor cuts his eyes to Ian, chuckling. He says, “You’d sell out some friends like that?”

“Movies tell me that’s what politics is really all about,” Ian says. He debates whether or not to take Taylor’s joint when it’s held out, and then eventually reaches for it. He takes a short pull and hands it back. “Honestly, they got rid of it all to avoid police, so there’s nothing to find now.”

“So you’re a false deal kind of man.”

“I’m a protect-my-interests type of guy.”

“Protect your family, and yet you want to enlist,” Taylor says, thoughtfully. “Man, if you want to study sciences or engineering or something, try to get into MIT. You’ll still get the WASP-y northeast culture and crazy academics.”

“You need MIT money for that,” Ian says. 

“There are scholarships.”

“That’s a lot more competition for much more limited cash.”

Taylor laughs outright at that, passing the joint back. He says, “You want to go to the country’s top military school, but you suddenly don’t like competition.”

Okay, so maybe it does sound sort silly reasoning when phrased that way. Ian says, “It’s not just the money or the academics. I’m good at this. ROTC, the discipline of it. And I like it. I like what it does for the people around me too.”

“The risk isn’t worth it,” Taylor says. 

“You sound like my brother.”

“And you sound like mine.” Taylor takes the joint again, inhaling deeply. He holds it down to his side when a couple spills out of the banquet hall, laughing. They head in the opposite direction, but Taylor waits for them to get halfway down the block before bringing the weed back to his lips. Eventually, he says, “Your brother’s a dick, but you’re right. I’m with him about West Point, about the army. They’ll just kill you. Either you get shot up or you lose your mind.”

“Not everybody,” Ian says. His fingers brush Taylor’s when he goes for the join this time. Taylor watches him take in a deep lungful and hold it steady. 

He says, “Enough,” and Ian know what he means, that it’s a response, but he uses that as a cue to breathe again too. He looks away and shakes his heads. “This dance bullshit blows.”

“That I agree with,” Ian says. 

The cold feels like it seeps in deeper now that he feels a buzz creeping in. He angles closer to Taylor, leaning against the wall. Just the two of them together isn’t enough to really make having some body heat near beneficial against the cold, but Ian’s arm against Taylor’s still feels like something worthwhile. 

“It’s your fault we’re here,” Taylor says. “I would’ve ditched my mom and Rob, but I mentioned something to Lip when I ran into him and then he insinuated he’d tell about my SATs, so --”

“Who cares? You’re already in school,” Ian says. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, Lip is as stubborn and persistent and you seem to be,” Taylor says, jostling Ian’s arm when he nudges him with an elbow. Ian declines the joint. “Seemed easier to let him buy tickets as a family friend than give my mom something else to be disappointed about.”

“Not even in politics yet, and you’re already getting blackmailed,” Ian says, glancing over. Taylor angles his head in to look back, half-smiling. It’s gone a lot dopier now, but Ian doesn’t think it’s a bad look on him. His breaths puff out in front of him when he laughs softly. 

Taylor says, “It’s like I’m a natural at this government thing.”

Ian laughs too. He rolls his shoulders and resettles against the wall, Taylor’s eyes still trained on Ian, observing. The backs of their hands brush again at their sides.

“Drugs in your past, backroom deals,” Ian says. “You’ve got enough scandals for news to get into already.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Taylor says, dropping his head back against the wall finally. They both stare out at the parking lot, relishing the high, Ian thinks. Good pot always makes Ian thrum all over, like an energy surge doing laps in his bloodstream. Taylor’s got some family drama like a lot of people, but being firmly middle class at least means he can afford decent weed to distract himself sometimes. 

Taylor’s pinky curving around one of Ian’s fingers slightly then should be a surprise, but Ian just blinks slowly.

“One more?” Taylor asks, low enough that it’s almost a whisper. 

Instead of answering, Ian turns his hand around, curling his index in to meet him.

;;

Ian’s never fucked anybody in his cadet uniform before, but it turns out that there really is a first time for everything.

They’re too stoned to have the focus for driving anywhere with a bed. Luckily, Taylor had let down the SUV’s back seat to transport a bunch of groceries for family dinner earlier that day. 

“We have extended family coming into town,” Taylor says as he kicks off his pants. 

Ian gets his slacks down to his knees and undoes his jacket. He doesn’t care, and Taylor doesn’t sound excited about it, so he says, “My family doesn’t do Christmas dinner.”

“Lucky you.”

Taylor likes to kiss as he fucks. Ian expects him to get on his hands and knees at first, but Taylor lies down on his back, stuffing his pants under his back. Ian obliges, thrusting in that way and hissing into Taylor’s mouth when he feels the hand in his hair, tugging. He jerks Taylor off as he pushes into him, rucking up his shirt so that his come gets all over his own stomach instead of their clothes. What gets on his hand, Ian wipes on the cloth back of the seats they’re lying across. Taylor lets Ian keep fucking even after he’s come down, and Ian finishes with his face tucked into Taylor’s neck, breathing shallowly and careful not to press their bodies together. 

He ties off the condom and opens the car door enough to toss it outside. 

As he moves to lie down, Taylor says, “Does your girlfriend know this about you?”

Ian snorts, startled by the question. “Uh, it’s. Mandy and I are kind of special case.”

“What does that mean?”

“Does it matter?”

“Just wondering if I need to avoid her now,” Taylor says, rolling onto his side. His hair is a mess now. There’s no good reason to reach out and push it back a little, because it’s not like it helps, but Ian’s fingers are there before he can really stop them.

“Sorry,” he says. “But it’s like -- you should see yourself. Everybody’s gonna know where you went, anyway.”

“Whatever,” Taylor says. “The ball sucked.”

The joke would be too easy to make, so Ian doesn’t but just thinking of the sarcasm that belongs there makes him laugh. He says, “Yeah, this was better.”

They tug their clothes back on in a mostly comfortable silence. Ian finishes first, since he hasn’t really taken anything all the way off. He looks back to Taylor before he goes to open the door again and says, “Sorry about ruining your night. Making you come here.”

“I think we can call it even,” Taylor says. He pauses in buttoning his pants. “You should, uh. You should call me if you decide you don’t want to apply to West Point.”

That’s -- well. Ian says, “That’s a very specific condition.” 

Shrugging, Taylor says, “I’m not really into guys with death wishes. Related to enough already,” but he’s got that lopsided smirk on again, like it’s a joke. He’s good at it. 

“Right,” Ian says. He can’t think of anything better. 

“Later, Gallagher,” Taylor says, sort of waving. Ian shifts out but then cranes back in and kisses Taylor, partly to see if he can, thinking of Mickey, but Taylor just opens his mouth and accepts. 

The contrast is enough to prompt Ian to pull away sooner rather than linger, and he says, “Later,” as he ducks out. 

;;

Lip and Mandy are sitting on the banquet hall steps when Ian makes it to the entrance. Lip passes his cigarette to her and says, “You missed the macarena, man.”

“Anything but that,” Ian says, holding his hand out. Mandy gives him the cigarette, and he likes the way the smoke collects in his lungs, helping him feel more alert instead of dazed. 

“So, you want these people to be your people?” Mandy asks. 

Lip says, “Please say we don’t have to come to any more balls.”

“You liked the open bar.”

“I can get alcohol anywhere,” Lip says, looking to Mandy. 

“Well, I liked the dancing,” Mandy says. She looks up to Ian. “He’s fucking terrible at it, though, so next time we stick together, Ian. I need a partner.”

“It could be a while before we get to come back. I’m not applying yet,” Ian says.

Mandy says, “Cool. We have time to practice.” 

She stands and takes the cigarette from Ian, handing it off to Lip. Mandy opens her arms and waits for Ian to meet her halfway, taking one hand and placing his other at her waist. They can barely hear the music from outside, but it gets louder each time someone comes through the entrance, so Ian finds the rhythm and moves with her as best he can. 

Lip keeps smoking, staring at them, appraising. 

To him, Ian says, “Thanks.”

“I guess the steak was kind of worth it,” Lip says, shrugging. Ian flips him off, and Lip smirks around the cigarette, leaning back on his elbows. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”


End file.
